


What Is Your Question, Lizzie?

by groundyonly



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:25:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundyonly/pseuds/groundyonly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot. Just because it took him 7 full seconds to answer doesn't mean Red was lying. A brief look into the possible workings of the mind of Raymond Reddington. Feedback always, ALWAYS, appreciated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Is Your Question, Lizzie?

“Are you my father?”

Raymond Reddington closed his eyes at the small, desperate voice. He had known somehow that this was going to be her question. And why not? After all, here he was, looming large in her life, bringing her to the brink of danger and beyond but never once shying away from protecting her. Even today, especially today, when Anslo Garrick was without question going to put a bullet through her skull, and the price to pay to stop that from happening was to sacrifice himself and face a long, torturous ordeal, he didn’t hesitate. She watched as Red immediately turned to Ressler, lying unconscious beside him, forced him awake, and said, “I need the code, to open the box,” and over Ressler’s protests, “Tell me the code. _Now.”_ Then, possibly astonishing her, he held a gun to the agent’s head and made the demand again. 

And it came. And once Red had given it to Garrick, he smiled at her.

It wasn’t a big smile. It wasn’t a cheeky smile. It was a smile of acceptance. _This is what is supposed to be._

Somehow, perhaps, it made him a hero to her, and for the briefest second, her question instilled overwhelming joy within him. It had been decades since someone had looked up to him that way. Was it so bad to want to be someone’s hero again? But just as quickly, the pain of his memories, worse than anything he had undergone today, took joy’s place. There had been good times, to be sure. But there had also been unfathomable, unforgivable failings. The same was true today: he had succeeded, but he had failed; he could not safely be near her. It hurt his heart, despite his attempts to ignore it, and so, bowing to his own emotions, he had called her, and told her that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, if she was in need, he would be there.

He had had to tell her. _Had_ to. But that made him a hero, again. He couldn’t bear the thought. It should not, _could_ not, be. He was repaying a debt, keeping a promise, following an order. He needed to maintain his detachment. But somehow he couldn’t. Not this time, not with her. And little girls want their fathers to be heroes. So the question, no matter how painful for both of them, had come.

“Are you my father?”

He wished that he could give her the answer she wanted. But as much as he himself wished it could be true, he had to put away the hero’s cape, and bring them both back to reality.

_This is what is supposed to be._

“No.”


End file.
